


Safety in Numbers

by popfly



Series: This Might Help Ficlets [6]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Spoilers, this might help
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-07-12
Packaged: 2017-12-19 05:42:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/popfly/pseuds/popfly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Written for <a href="http://www.keysmashblog.com">Keysmash</a>'s This Might Help challenge, week six, episode 3.06 "Motel California".</p>
    </blockquote>





	Safety in Numbers

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Keysmash](http://www.keysmashblog.com)'s This Might Help challenge, week six, episode 3.06 "Motel California".

“I really do not want to go back into one of those rooms.”

Stiles could understand. Really, he could. The motel was creepy as fuck, and maybe kind of trying to kill them. Get them to commit suicide. Whatever, semantics.

“Dude, I get it, I do, but you cannot just hang out soaked in gasoline either, okay. Not good.”

Scott eyes darted around at the rest of them, then back at Stiles. “We all go?”

 

“I didn’t think you wanted us all in the bathroom,” Stiles says from his perch on the toilet tank. Lydia’s sitting on the closed lid, between his shoes. Allison’s balanced on one of her knees, and Isaac and Boyd are sitting cross legged side by side on the floor. There’s barely any space to move, or breathe, as the room fills with steam. Sooty sweat rolls down Stiles’s face and he grimaces, flicking it away with his finger.

“I just don’t want us to split up again,” Scott calls, voice muffled by water. The smell of apples wafts over the curtain rod.

“You’re going to owe me a new bottle of body wash,” Lydia calls, and shifts on the toilet. Allison bounces up, grimacing an apology, but Lydia reaches out for her, pulls her back down. “You weigh, like, nothing.”

“But my butt is all bony.”

“It’s fine.”

Stiles is uncomfortable, his own bony butt going numb from the way he’s bent up on the tank, and it’s been basically the worst night ever. Which is saying a lot, because they’ve had a lot of really fucking bad nights. His best friend - his brother - had just almost blown himself up, and then he’d almost blown up too.

And yet. He looks around again, at Isaac slumping sleepily on Boyd’s shoulder, and Lydia’s shining red hair flowing over Allison’s shoulder, and listens to the sounds of Scott scrubbing himself clean in the shower.

And yet, despite everything, there’s nowhere else in the world he’d rather be at that very second than huddled atop a toilet in a shitty motel bathroom, with these people. Because no matter where they were, as long as they were safe, Stiles was happy.


End file.
